


the sun is a thief

by svartalfheimr



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Smut, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/svartalfheimr
Summary: aces-to-apples asked:Can I perchance interest you in Savage/Dogma and a Vibe that I like to call "romantic confusion"?---His life has drastically changed in very little time. If someone told him, a year ago, that he’d be captured by Sith on his way to Kamino to get decommissioned, and that they’d help him learn how to function as an individual rather than as a cog in the machine, Dogma would have told them to get karked. As it is, his nightmares are plagued with images of blue and green lightsabers cutting through him and his brothers as if they were nothing.There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll never be able to see a lightsaber in any other color than red without being struck by fear instantly.
Relationships: Dogma/Savage Opress
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	the sun is a thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAceApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/gifts).



> Usually I pester people with maulrex but today? Savage/Dogma. Let us create another ship tag with good old smut, folks
> 
> (this tumblr prompt fill got waaay longer and smuttier than intended so I'm posting the full thing here actually skjfkds)

Maul is annoyed with him.

That’s… not very difficult to get. He just plainly ignored him all day long and, since he’s in one of his moods, now he’s just using him as a soundboard and he’s going to snarl if Dogma even _thinks_ about saying something. When Maul is like this, he just nods in agreement and focuses on something else. This time is… longer than usual. He has no idea what Maul is ranting about but, whatever it is, it got him angry. So he nods when he feels he should. It seems to work.

Behind them, Savage is staring at him. What is _odd_ is that every time Dogma stares back, the Nightbrother just looks elsewhere. He frowns but knows better than to ask him. If he does, Maul will realize he hasn’t been listening. Which means he’ll just start over and Dogma will have to wait even longer.

Savage sighs. Dogma closes his eyes.

“Am I _boring_ you, apprentice?” Maul hisses. At least, he changed targets now.

“Sorry, brother,” Savage replies. He doesn’t sound very sorry. He seems to realize it because he tilts his head to the side and stares into space.

Dogma snorts. Fierfek. What an idiot. Why did he do this.

Before him, Maul’s back is so tense his shirt is stretching around his shoulders. Savage winces. They’re in for a very long one, it seems. He’s probably going to talk for an entire _hour_ now. Dogma takes a deep, silent breath and sighs as quietly as he can. Savage’s eyes dart to him then he ducks his head to hide his smile. 

Maul seethes. He raises an angry finger at his brother and snarls, “ _You ar—_ ”

“Alor,” someone says then Dogma stops listening. He squints. He doesn’t recognize that paint. Maul’s Mandos lack artistic talents to a point that even Tup and his shoddily painted armor would look fantastic beside them. The ones who _do_ have “talent”, he can recognize them. This one clearly doesn’t.

Maul dismisses his Mando quickly. “I will be gone for a while,” he says in a low voice, annoyance contained. Dogma perks up. He doesn’t like that tone. It’s not a good one.

“Do you—”

“No,” Maul snaps but glances back at him and nods tersely when Dogma shakes his head to say he doesn’t mind. “We will finish this conversation later on.”

He walks out of the room without a second glance. Savage remains entirely ignored. As soon as his brother is out, he sighs heavily.

“You should be quieter,” Dogma says. He gets off Maul’s throne to walk closer to the Nightbrother. He gets no reply—just a shrug. “He'd be less hard on you if you were.”

“He will be angry no matter what,” Savage rumbles. He begins to growl in frustration; when he realizes this, he startles and falls silent, ducking his chin. Dogma frowns. He comes closer, until he’s standing in front of him. He raises one hand and strokes Savage’s chipped horn.

“You’re very tense,” he tells him. He starts massaging the base of his horn; Savage stiffens immediately. Dogma frowns. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” the Nightbrother says brusquely. “I mean… It feels good.”

Dogma huffs. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, vexed. “You’re tenser than before. I know I’m not a Nightbrother but I can _learn._ ” He presses on the skin with his thumb. Savage closes his eyes and shudders. “Am I that bad?”

“No,” the Nightbrother mutters, swallowing heavily. “You’re… good. Very good.”

Dogma hums in satisfaction. “You know you can tell me,” he whispers. He noticed Savage prefers when he’s quieter. He takes another horn in hand and massages them both with enough pressure Savage’s plexus begins to vibrate with that strange hum both brothers do when they seem comfortable enough. It’s funny with Maul because the way his chest vibrates can actually lull Dogma to a deep state of slumber no matter how hostile his mind is to sleep. “I’ll always help you when I can.” 

Savage hums more loudly. Dogma takes a step closer, pushing his legs apart with his foot. “Wait let me get closer so I ca—” He’s pulled flushed against him quickly; the Nightbrother nuzzles his stomach and his hum becomes even louder. Dogma chuckles. He curls his arms around Savage’s neck and closes his eyes.

He feels the Nightbrother cling to him, reluctant to let go, so he doesn’t try to move. He thinks he sees what the problem is, though.

“Do you need to unwind,” he whispers softly, using the same tone he does with Maul when the Sith wakes up not remembering where he is or how he escaped Lotho Minor. Savage’s embrace tightens.

“You don’t have to,” he replies.

Dogma tenses. “Hey,” he says, trying not to snap. “I do what _I_ want. No one else gets to choose for me.” He swallows, the words still difficult to utter sometimes—but Maul said them enough for him to know how to form them in his mouth. “I am free.”

Savage nods mutely, one of his horns scratching Dogma’s shirt. He stays silent.

“I am free,” Dogma repeats, prompting him.

“And I am as well,” the Nightbrother mutters. His arms tighten enough around him that for an instant Dogma has trouble breathing. “Forgive me.”

He sighs, fingers stroking Savage’s nape. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he whispers. He stays silent for a moment, just enjoying the embrace. Eventually, he repeats, “Do you need to unwind?”

Save doesn’t reply. Dogma tries something else.

“Would you _like_ to?” he asks instead. He waits for the answer, knowing it won’t come right away. Dogma’s biggest advantage over Maul is his patience over minute things; the Sith knows he must wait when he wants a plan to unfurl perfectly but he tends to get impatient when it is for literally anything else. He wants _everything_ right away.

“Yes,” Savage admits after a minute spent in silence.

“Okay,” Dogma says softly but doesn’t make any move to leave. Savage doesn’t either.

His life has drastically changed in very little time. If someone told him, a year ago, that he’d be captured by Sith on his way to Kamino to get decommissioned, and that they’d help him learn how to function as an individual rather than as a cog in the machine, Dogma would have told them to get karked. As it is, his nightmares are plagued with images of blue and green lightsabers cutting through him and his brothers as if they were nothing. 

There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll never be able to see a lightsaber in any other color than red without being struck by fear instantly. 

“Let’s go to your bedroom,” Dogma whispers and Savage nods silently. “Carry me?”

The Nightbrother does. Dogma embraces him tighter; he rests his chin on his shoulder and sighs, looking at the throne getting farther away. It’s been an ongoing work for all of them—to be able to touch and receive touch, to understand that physical contact does not always mean pain. Out of the three, Maul is the one who struggles the most. Savage is the one to whom it comes the most easily. Dogma always felt… _distant_ with his brothers, even his batchers, and he’s never understood how or why—it’s just how it was. Being able to hug and be hugged is new and difficult sometimes but it’s something he’s come to crave.

It’s funny because he never realized how much he missed this until he started doing it.

Dogma feels Savage’s loud hum against his chest and stomach and he smiles. He doesn’t really understand why he’s never felt safer and at peace like he does now, while he’s living with sworn enemies of the Republic, but he _knows_ that there’s not much he won’t do for Savage.

And there’s no doubt in his mind that there’s not much Savage won’t do for him.

“I am free,” Dogma mutters against his neck.

“And I am as well,” Savage replies.

He closes his eyes for the entire walk, uncaring of what is happening around them. He’s safe. He’s on Mandalore. He’s in the heart of Maul’s growing empire. Savage is here with him. He’s got nothing to be afraid of.

Fear didn’t use to be as strong as it can be nowadays. Dogma never got that jolt that makes brothers still during their first time on the field; he started with his head straight and kept it straight until the end. But now. Now it’s another matter altogether.

Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night terrified and unable to move; his chest feels so heavy he cannot breathe. Above him, there’s a Besalisk whose face has become blurry and impossible to focus on—and there’s these lights around them, the green and blue and green and blue and green and blue and the _sound._ It’s a growl, hungry and wanton, a low, throbbing and rumbling growl that means death. 

_Dogma,_ the voice that brings him back to reality always says. _You are free. You do what you want. No one else gets to choose for you._

“Your mind isn’t here,” Savage rumbles. Dogma hums against his neck. He hears him open the door. “We can rest.”

They could. But he opens his mouth and bites Savage’s neck sharply. He chuckles when he gets a groan and begins slowly grinding in his arms.

“Put me on the bed,” he whispers, lapping at the fresh bite. Savage does then looms over him. Dogma smiles, hand rising to touch his cheek. “Like this?”

The Nightbrother averts his gaze. “I’m afraid to hurt you if you are under me,” he admits quietly.

“Okay.” Dogma pulls him closer to curl his legs around his waist then he rolls them over; Savage goes with the motion easily, laughing. “Undress me,” Dogma whispers against his lips, marvelling at the low growl he receives.

It’s always a thrill to see how cautious and careful Savage is with him. He takes his shirt off slowly, careful not to obstruct his sight for too long, he pulls his pants off softly, as if doing it quickly may hurt him. It’s a strange sensation, one Dogma isn’t used to, and he doesn’t think he’d like it if it were anyone else. With Savage, he feels safe and comfortable. Right now, he doesn’t care much for the rest of the galaxy. 

“Take off your clothes,” he whispers once he is fully naked and straddling his waist. Savage does, careful not to disturb their position; once his upper body is bare, Dogma leans into his chest and eagerly kneads the fat over his muscles. Savage is _big_ everywhere, a being of pure strength who is terrified of his own body. “Beautiful,” Dogma promises on his skin, lips laying claims on his chest. When he trails lower, he smiles as soon as he feels a hard cock poking against him. 

“Give me the oil,” he orders softly. It takes less than ten seconds for him to have the vial in his hand. He rolls it in his palm in a soothing gesture meant to calm his nerves. “Spread your legs for me.”

Something that came up very, very early in these sessions is the fact that Savage is _big._ Too big. _Way_ too big. It would take a lot of time to prep Dogma for him and neither of them seem enthusiastic enough at the prospect for them to actually take the time. The other way around, though—less prep and they can unwind just as much.

There’s also something incredibly empowering about the whole process. He’s two fingers deep and Savage’s hands are already clawing at the sheets; he’s on his back, panting and shifting, getting impatient, so Dogma crooks his fingers just right to have him gasp and close his eyes. Savage groans, loud and needy, low in his throat—it sends shivers up Dogma’s spine and has him shudder with want. He spreads his fingers and twists his wrist, echoing Savage’s moan. 

“You’re taking them so well,” he whispers and the small responding whine has him grinning widely. “I’m gonna add another, alright?”

Savage nods mutely, eyes closed and face scrunched up in concentration. They both know he’s trying to be good and stay still. He’s succeeding for now. More or less. Dogma pulls his leg up on his shoulder and kisses his calf in reward. When he adds another finger, Savage tenses.

“Relax for me,” Dogma orders softly, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, prompting him to do the same.

“I am ready,” Savage mutters with a gasp.

“We stick to the plan,” Dogma reminds him, stroking inside him to soften his unyielding tone. “Give it a little bit more time.”

The Nightbrother whines and his hips jerk when Dogma’s fingers crook. There they go. He sees him slowly respond, moving a bit more, little by little. He spreads his fingers again and offers him a satisfied groan. Savage gasps and begins to kriff his hand slowly, hips going up and down, up and down. Dogma leans closer, takes the head of his cock between his lips and sucks once, humming. Savage moans loudly; he rewards him by licking a stripe from base to tip.

He could add another finger again but he doesn’t think the idea will be enthusiastically met. Maybe another time. He pulls out and Savage groans. His eyes open and flutter; he looks at Dogma with confusion that morphs into excitement when he sees him coat his cock with oil.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks in a whisper, stroking himself for a moment, staring at the Nightbrother spread on the bed and looking at him wantonly. What a beautiful sight.

“I am.”

He stands next to the bed and pulls Savage to the edge, placing his calves on his shoulders. They don’t really have a lot of options for comfortable positions if they want to be face to face; Dogma is strong but he’s not a big man and Savage is—well, he’s bigger than big. Him standing up and kriffing Savage like this is how they like it.

“Breathe for me,” he mutters, lining himself up. When he begins to enter him, he grits his teeth. Savage is always so tight it’s a bit concerning—but the Nightbrother swears he’s never in pain and Dogma doesn’t think he would lie to him about that. “You’re doing well,” he says when he’s halfway in, the urge to just thrust almost impossible to resist. He doesn’t do it. He goes in slowly and carefully; he is more than his animal instinct. 

Once he bottoms out, Savage grows impatient. He grinds, softly, growling in rhythm with the roll of his hips and he looks at Dogma like he cannot believe he exists. They set the pace to slow and tender. Savage sighs and his back arches after particular thrusts; Dogma rolls his hips languorously, trying to curve and find the right angles. He’s breathing heavily, exhaling with every thrust, hands clenching and clawing at Savage’s legs, eliciting full-body shivers.

Dogma moans when he feels him clench around him, eyes fluttering shut. He throws his head back and his hands caress smooth skin tenderly. Savage clenches again—and this time he lets out a calling whine.

“You okay?” Dogma asks between pants, keeping the rhythm but he searches for clues on Savage’s face. He finds none so he slows down.

“Dogma,” the Nightbrother gasps. “Do not…” He squirms, moaning. “Don’t stop.”

Oh. “Alright,” he whispers and picks up the pace again. Savage moans low in his throat and his eyes blink rapidly.

“I want…” He groans at a particular angle—Dogma grins. He found it. “Look at me.”

“Savage,” he says with a smile, gazing down at him. He kisses his skin again and whispers, “I see you.”

He keeps kriffing him slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time, moaning his name over and over again. His hands clench on Savage’s legs and his thrusts become more erratic and jerky—he’s close. He’s very, very close to come.

He curls a hand around Savage’s cock and starts playing with the head, twisting and squeezing it quickly; the Nightbrother growls, the sound cut off by hiccups and whines, and Dogma laughs tiredly, relieved and ecstatic.

“Come for me,” he whispers and Savage’s mouth open in a silent cry; his eyes shut and suddenly he clenches tightly around Dogma, making him come with a surprised shout. He thrusts inside him until he is fully spent then keeps stroking Savage’s cock. “Come for me,” he repeats, squeezing the head, and this time Savage lets go. 

He’s always beautiful in that small moment when he offers himself entirely to Dogma; he trembles and gasps, small whines turning into hiccups while his cock spurts on his chest and pulses in Dogma’s hand. It’s enough for his own cock to twitch painfully.

When Savage drops back down on the bed with a tired sigh, Dogma pulls out softly. He sees his own come leaking out of the Nightbrother and he has the urge to kriff him with his fingers right then. He blinks and shakes his head slightly. He looks around in search of wipes.

“Over there,” the Nightbrother says with a tired gesture. Dogma puts his legs back on the bed slowly and nods.

He cleans himself methodically, wincing at his sensitive cock, then walks back to Savage and takes care of him. Once they are both as clean as they can get without going to the fresher, he hums a nonverbal request; Savage pushes himself up to the middle of the bed and stretches his arms. Dogma smiles, crawling over him and lying down on his chest, sighing in satisfaction when he can hear the dual beating of his hearts.

He falls asleep when he feels strong arms embracing him. 

  
  


He is startled awake in the middle of the night when Savage tries to move. “No,” he mumbles against him, frowning. He feels his pillow chuckle.

He’s carried somewhere. He doesn’t really care where as long as he’s warm and able to sleep.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Savage says. Dogma hums. He starts protesting when he’s put back down on the bed on his own, he groans in discontent an—

“You reek of sweat,” Maul hisses but falls silent when Dogma groans more loudly. The Sith sighs in annoyance.

“It’s the middle of the night, brother, and he’s tired.”

“And _whose_ fault is this?”

Dogma settles on his chest and sighs when he can hear his hearts and the low vibrations of his voice. 

“Stop talking. I’m tired,” he complains when they keep bickering. They fall silent right then. He sighs again, more content. It takes a moment but Maul sighs, admitting defeat. Dogma kisses his chest and lies down more comfortably. He waits. A minute. Then another. But eventually he gets what he wants.

Dogma falls asleep, lulled by the sound of Maul’s constant humming.

**Author's Note:**

> Six in the am and here I am saying Big Bois can be Topped too and methinks it's what Savage deserves 💅🏽


End file.
